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ninetalevixen 's review for:
Love Letters to the Dead
by Ava Dellaira
I really wanted to like this book, but the ending espcially was so packed with cliches — and just packed in general: it feels like the first two-thirds of the book are just Laurel struggling with emotions, which is 100% valid irl but not very engaging reading, and in the end this is a novel.
Which might be part of the problem, the form. Letters didn’t seem to work very well for the story meant to be conveyed, because so much of Laurel’s letters were just summarizing things about her addressees’ lives, even going so far as to say how they must have been thinking/feeling/etc. They’re more like diary entries, which defeats the purpose: for the most part, diary entries are for you, while letters are for other people. (Yes, I know the point is that the addressees will never read them because they are dead. But it still doesn’t work for me.)
Additionally, the voice and a lot of Laurel’s thought processes would’ve better matched a middle schooler; the naivete and teenage drama is more stereotypical than relatable high schooler. There’s also a childish self-centeredness that bothers me — of course it’s important to ultimately prioritize your own well-being, emotional distress is valid and debilitating; but other people matter just as much, especially if their friendship is really “saving” you. (I also take issue with the emphasis on dating drama, drinking, smoking, parties, etc., but that’s more of a portrayal issue across the genre than a bone to pick with this particular book.)
Finally, the ending. To be honest, I would’ve been disappointed not to see what we got in the epilogue, but personally I thought .
Which might be part of the problem, the form. Letters didn’t seem to work very well for the story meant to be conveyed, because so much of Laurel’s letters were just summarizing things about her addressees’ lives, even going so far as to say how they must have been thinking/feeling/etc. They’re more like diary entries, which defeats the purpose: for the most part, diary entries are for you, while letters are for other people. (Yes, I know the point is that the addressees will never read them because they are dead. But it still doesn’t work for me.)
Additionally, the voice and a lot of Laurel’s thought processes would’ve better matched a middle schooler; the naivete and teenage drama is more stereotypical than relatable high schooler. There’s also a childish self-centeredness that bothers me — of course it’s important to ultimately prioritize your own well-being, emotional distress is valid and debilitating; but other people matter just as much, especially if their friendship is really “saving” you. (I also take issue with the emphasis on dating drama, drinking, smoking, parties, etc., but that’s more of a portrayal issue across the genre than a bone to pick with this particular book.)
Finally, the ending.